


Hands Grip Tight

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, F/M, M/M, Male Lavellan is Not Inquisitor, Mutual Pining, Sorry in advance I did do some research, There's a lot of made up Dalish here, Will adjust ratings and tags as need arises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: When Clan Lavellan fell, the Herald of Andraste was certain everyone she loved and cared for was dead. But there comes a day, two weeks later, when an unusual person appears on the outskirts of Haven. Dorian Pavus is lucky enough to find him-save him really-and when he brings the visitor to Areish Lavellan, the Inquisition discovers their savior has a twin.Soon enough, there are two Lavellans dashing about Thedas. And Dorian is quite all right following in their shadows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay world, I have been sitting on this fic FOR months. It is by no means finished but I have a pretty solid start on it and because I always have crippling self-doubt when it comes to writing for a new fandom that already has hundreds of amazing fics to choose from, I just want to bite the bullet and get a few chapters published to see how it does. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment. I make no promises on publishing regularly. But I'll get to it when and where I can.

Clan Lavellan is dead. 

Areish stares at the blood and ink stained slip of parchment Cullen had handed to her when she’d arrived back in Haven and tries to keep her hands from shaking. Her cabin is quiet-blissfuly so.

But she can hear her people’s screams. Can hear her Keeper yelling for the children to run. 

She can hear bowstrings twanging uselessly, arrows flying through the air to pierce Shem armor. 

It wouldn’t have been enough. 

The Keeper had sent her to the Conclave, along with several hunters and her own granddaughter as spokesperson. The Clan had been woefully unprotected. But Wycome had welcomed them and left them well-enough alone. They should have been safe.

The Keeper sent her away…

“I am sorry,” she whispers to the crumpled parchment and she tries to not think of the Keeper’s Second. He was probably dead too…

Her heart aches at the thought and she concentrates for a useless, pointless moment, searching her heart-her soul-for a bond she has shared with one other since their days together in their mother’s womb. 

But she doesn’t feel him.

Hasn’t felt her brother since the day the Breach tore through the sky honestly. 

She was not one meant for magic. 

Her brother had always wielded it gracefully and with ease.

She has no mind for arcane powers and Fade stepping. Her hands are made for the hafts of mighty axes. Her muscles are better suited to wielding swords, not staves. 

Areish Lavellan was not supposed to be a leader. Her brother was always the best one for that role. 

She takes a deep breath and glances at the glowing light in her palm. 

“I am sorry I failed you,” she whispers to the spirits of her family. “I should have been there to die with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Shems’ village is awash in golden light. From the trees he can hear the sound of hammers and the clash of swords. He can hear warriors shouting mock battle cries. 

He can feel magic in the air. 

He stiffens, pointed ears pricking slightly in his shadowy hood at the faint telltale crackle of storm energy drifting from the frozen lake and pale eyes shift from the fort to a circle of women he can make out in the distance. Their staves twirl as one and slam into the ice in time, at the shouts of a slender elvhen woman standing before them. 

Lightning swirls around them, making their hair rise with its static energy and his own skin bumps at the combined power being exhibited here. Their bright laughter reaches his ears, several of them falling out of place to dance together, twirling in the icy clouds of snow their boots and skirts kick up. Their instructor laughs, clapping her hands, ordering them back into place and the women once more take up their storm magics.

The shadowed elf shifts in his worn, bloodied boots and takes a deep breath, his fingers twisting a bit on his staff. 

Pain, faded thanks to his own waning magics, washes over him-strengthened by the cold-and he hisses a breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“You know, I’ve heard it on good authority that spying on ladies may not be the politest thing a gentleman can do.” 

The elf straightens at the sound of a voice behind him and spins, staff raised in a defensive stance. 

A Shem has snuck up on him.

A mage Shem.

The elf bares his teeth, tattooed skin pulling a bit with his lips and the Shem raises a well manicured brow at this display. 

“My! Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he says. His own teeth flash in a cheeky grin, a stark white against his dusky olive skin and well-oiled mustachios. 

The elf’s eyes narrow. 

The Shem, his hands empty and raised in a placating gesture, cocks his head. “You look familiar my friend, have you threatened me before?” 

The elf, stuck wondering just what he’s supposed to do about this dark haired, very sparkly and bizarrely dressed human, suddenly finds his arms shaking and his vision spinning. 

“I-” he starts, but then the world is tilting and his knees buckle. “I am looking for-”

The human, his dark eyes (very beautiful eyes for a Shem) wide with horror, rushes forward, catching his body as it finally gives up and for a moment, their gazes lock. 

“Who are you looking for?” the human asks, eyes darting from the practicing mages below to the still distant fort. “Hold on my friend. I can’t have you bleed out all over my robes. However will I get it out?”

The elf sighs. “Humans,” he whispers, wincing at the telltale taste of blood on his lips. “Please,” he gasps, hand rising to tangle in the human’s robes. “My sister-I’m looking for my sister. Tell me she’s here.” 

The human frowns, his own hand rising to settle on the elf’s, and for a second it almost feels as if a crackle of lightning dances across their joined skin. 

But no…

No, surely that was just the mages and their storm energies down below…

The elf coughs, eyes closing briefly and his fingers tighten further. “Areish. Her name-her name is Areish...Please. Tell her...tell her I’m sorry I failed her.” 

And finally…

Finally, his eyes close to the darkness washing over him. 

The last thing he sees are dark Shem eyes gazing down at him in horror and maybe...maybe something not.


End file.
